By dint of humming Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine, Herr von Brunzbrack had fallen asleep; his only reply was a mumbled repetition of the refrain.
"He is in some imaginary country," said Frédérique, turning again to me. "Let's let him sleep. For a German, he's a very poor drinker; I mean, he drinks too much. But you are different; you don't show it. It's great fun to get merry, but it's stupid to get tipsy and go to sleep. For my part, I can drink all the champagne I choose, and it only makes me talkative, expansive, don't you know, my friend, don't you know? Ah! I have a strange fancy; if I don't yield to it, I shall stifle!"
"What is it, in heaven's name? Pray yield to it at once!"
"Well, I have a fancy to tutoyer[F] you; are you willing?"
I cannot describe the effect produced upon me by that: "Are you willing?"—A sort of shiver passed through my body. I was moved to the very depths of my being. For a man cannot, unmoved, hear a young and attractive woman address him thus familiarly. It was of no use for me to say to myself that with Frédérique that meant nothing, that it was simply one effect of her originality; I was perturbed, and I did not know what to reply.
She saved me the trouble by going on:
"It's agreed; we will tutoyer each other. I will be your confidant, and you shall be mine. Like the intimate friends we are, we will have no secrets from each other. Give me your hand. Your name is Charles, I believe? Well, I will call you Charles; it's less ceremonious than Rochebrune. Come, shake hands. Aren't you willing to address me as thou?"
"Oh, yes, indeed! I am delighted! I will gladly address you—address thee—thou."
"One would say that it came rather hard! For my part, I feel as if you were my brother, and I had thou'd thee all my life."
"Ah! you feel as if I were your brother, do you?"